


apotheosis

by motheyes



Series: apotheosis 'verse [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Gen, Paranoia, Pogtopia, Post-Election, Villain Wilbur Soot, and kinda plotty, hehe boom, idk how to describe it, meaning that it's kinda a character study, thats a tag already??? dude pog, this follows my usual style, wilbur soot is desolation kin. in this essay i will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27042913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motheyes/pseuds/motheyes
Summary: apotheosis (n):1. the highest point in the development of something; culmination or climax.2. the elevation of someone to divine status; deification.or: wilbur never meant to lose l'manburg.
Relationships: all platonic here babey, no - Relationship
Series: apotheosis 'verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1973764
Comments: 12
Kudos: 140





	1. climb ye higher, and higher, and higher

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: if i learn that this crosses any cc's boundaries, it's getting taken down. we respect boundaries here xoxo. this fic is about fictional wilbur soot, ex-president turned james dean, who only happens to share a name with popular streamer wilbur soot. (same goes for all the other characters, of course.)
> 
> ok now with that out of the way!
> 
> heres a playlist i made: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5WCHFFQAudPcnyTVsCIJaC?si=GLvBRBLjQLeFbwDMSTcDRQ
> 
> it's the only thing i've been listening to for the past, like, week, and i took HEAVY vibe inspo from it for this. (chapter title is from one of the songs on this playlist, actually - icarus by the crane wives.)
> 
> also, dialogue and stuff isn't exact, both because i am too lazy to watch hours of vods to write a one shot and to make it easier for the dialogue to fit my pretentious-ass style. so, fair warning for that; i've only got the general gist of the plot. i've added/subtracted/changed some stuff to make it more sense/be more poetic in universe.
> 
> to any readers, i hope you enjoy! and, thank you to my friends for betaing! very pog of you. <3

L’Manburg falls the day it rises.

It is such a young nation, full of hope and wonder that cannot be crushed even by ridiculous odds. It is a beautiful land that promises justice and freedom for all. And that - that’s where the problems start.

L’Manburg is built on the idea of freedom, but that begets change. A general is necessary in wartime, but what does he do when the soldiers have all gone home and the fight hasn’t left his bones yet?

And so, L’Manburg falls the day that Wilbur Soot declares himself leader of the revolution.

Even then, the cracks don’t show for months.

“We’re going to hold an election,” Wilbur tells Tommy on one summer day, the sun hanging high and hot above the walls that they’re standing on. “We’ll win, of course, but the people deserve democracy.”

Tommy grins and hands Wilbur a book, and they start drafting their policies that same day.

Later that night, when Tommy’s gone to bed, Wilbur looks over the nation that he’s built from atop the great walls that protect it. The lights shine off the still water of the pond surrounding the Camarvan. L’Manburg rests.

Wilbur and Tommy have brought the golden age of L’Manburg, were the ones to raise it from the earth, and there is no possible way they won’t win. Not if Wilbur’s people know what’s best for them.

It’s almost comical how quickly it goes wrong.

Quackity finds out about the election within the week, and he announces his own candidacy.

“That’s fine,” Wilbur tells Tommy in private. “There’s no way he can win. He’s not even a citizen.”

But it doesn’t stop with Quackity.

No, instead, Wilbur finds himself staring his son in the eyes as he asks, “why?”

“I just want to do what’s best for this country,” Fundy says. “That’s all, Dad.”

“Am I not what’s best?” Wilbur asks, desperately. “Do you not believe I want the same thing as you?”

Fundy won’t meet his eyes.

Wilbur almost considers rejecting Fundy’s application for candidacy. His son is too young; he can’t possibly understand what the right thing to do is yet. But, democracy must be upholded, and so no matter how much Wilbur hates it, he has to write “COCONUT2020” on the ballot, right underneath SWAG2020.

Things are going poorly as the election draws closer and closer. But, there’s still hope, and Wilbur finds himself being infected by Tommy’s unending confidence. There’s no way that Quackity or even Fundy could ever understand L’Manburg as well as Wilbur does. The debate night is a perfect opportunity for him to show that, for Wilbur to take the stage and tell the world that he’s here, that he has not and will never leave.

Schlatt’s supposed to be Wilbur’s ace up his sleeve. Schlatt’s supposed to be a glowing endorsement, someone that makes the people see how strong POG2020’s allies are.

Instead, Schlatt is the worst thing to ever happen to the election.

“I’m going to make my own presidency!” Schlatt yells, a shit eating grin on his face and in his voice.

And, when Quackity corners Wilbur and asks him to stockpile SWAG’s votes with Schlatt’s, all Wilbur can feel is a sort of sad, helpless anger.

Schlatt2020 gets penciled in on the ballot as well, all the way at the bottom.

The voting period doesn’t go well. Wilbur counts the votes in real time, as they come in, and all he can do is watch as the odds slowly turn against him.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Tommy says, but Wilbur can hear the slight tremble in his voice. “We can still bring this back.”

Wilbur doesn’t respond. His nation, forged in war and bloodshed and fire, has just been thrown away to the first charismatic man to flash a smile on stage.

When he walks down the wooden stage a couple days later, his shoulders are drawn tight as can be. He already knows how this day will go. He already knows how his people have betrayed him, not even a year into his presidency.

The sun sets over the grandstand, over L’Manburg, and Wilbur admits that he’s lost.

The crowd below him mutters uneasily when he announces the results, and it takes all his self control to not snap and tell them, “ _you did this._ ” He just barely manages to stop himself, though, and he bows stiffly before walking off the stage and into the seats below.

Wilbur may have known how this day was going to start, may have known that there was no chance of his victory in the election. Nothing, though, nothing could have prepared him for how the day was going to end.

“Well,” Schlatt says, his voice low and dark. The microphone gives his voice an eerie, staticky quality. “That was easy.”

Wilbur can feel his heart drop even lower. The audience is dead quiet. Nobody dares to move.

Everyone can feel it. It’s the dawn of a new era, and it’s being heralded in by Schlatt’s dark laughter and Quackity’s “yessirs”.

Schlatt’s chuckling tapers off, and he leans back into the mic. The single moment before he begins speaking again is fraught with tension.

“My first act as president, nay, emperor of L’Manburg,” he says, “is to revoke the citizenship of Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit.”

There's a moment of pure silence before the crowd before the podium explodes with noise, and it _doesn’t sound angry_. Tommy turns back to look at Wilbur, his face full of raw emotion, and Wilbur whispers, _“run.”_

Their feet pound against the ground, their footsteps crunching on leaves that are just beginning to fall, and the people of their nation chase them with weapons in hand.

Wilbur ducks around the corner of the great walls of L’Manburg, downing the potion that Tommy slipped him in the middle of their mad dash away from the grandstand. He can feel it course through his veins at the exact moment that Fundy rounds the corner, a sword clutched in his paw.

Wilbur reaches out with an invisible hand. His tentative grasp almost reaches his son’s shoulder before Fundy spins around and yells back towards the jeering crowd, “They’re not here! They must have escaped!”

He returns to the mob, and Wilbur stares after him for a long minute.

Then, something grabs his wrist, and he jumps before he registers Tommy’s voice saying, “C’mon, Wil.”

Wilbur barely remembers their frantic exit from L’Manburg, after that point. All he has is flashes of their escape into the woods, of the roaring of the crowd, of Schlatt’s cackling laughter soaring over it all.

One thing, though, one thing sticks out. On the edge of the forest, where the lush grass of L’Manburg gives way to tree roots and underbrush, Wilbur turns back, and his eyes widen against the light of the burning flag.

He can almost feel himself burning up with it.

A distant cheer rises up above the crash of the flagpole toppling over, and Wilbur forces himself to turn and run.

The woods are dark, so dark that Wilbur can barely see his hands in front of his face when the invisibility potions wear off. He stumbles over tree root after tree root, but eventually, he bursts into a clearing, Tommy right behind him, and he squints against the sudden light of the moon. He and Tommy both just stop for a minute, trying to catch their breaths. Tommy looks up at Wilbur, and Wilbur looks back, and they are quiet and afraid.

A twig crunches behind them, from the direction of L’Manburg. In tandem, Wilbur and Tommy both whip their heads around to stare at the person emerging from the woods.

“Gentlemen, I believe I could help you.”

“Fuck off, Eret!“ Tommy yells, beating Wilbur to the punch.

“Gentlemen, please-”

“How dare you,” Wilbur seethes. “How dare you! Absolutely not. Leave us be right now.”

“Alright,” Eret says, retreating with their hands raised. “Just in case, you know where to find me.”

Wilbur spits on the ground in their direction as they leave.

“We can’t trust him,” he says, tugging on the back of Tommy’s collar. “Let’s go.”

And so, they keep running.

It feels like hours before they stop again, but they have to be sure they haven’t been followed, not even by any supposedly well-meaning backstabbers. Wilbur and Tommy sit together in the underbrush for a long time, just waiting for a torchlight in the distance or the sound of feet on dirt and leaves.

Nothing comes. Still, they sit.

The moon reaches its peak in the sky, its light shining on the shifting surface of the nearby river, before Tommy and Wilbur spring into action.

They gouge a hole in the short cliff face that overlooks the water, chopping down trees strategically so as to keep their new base covered and out of sight. They only speak in whispers; even if nobody’s around to hear them, it still feels wrong to speak too loudly.

Wilbur digs his way down into the stone in the back of the tiny room that he and Tommy have made for themselves, and when he breaks through into the roof of a ravine, he just manages to catch himself before he falls.

He doesn’t quite smile down at this newfound cavern, but he lets himself feel a bit of hope. He can do something with this.

Wilbur’s putting the finishing touches on the path he’s carved into the side of the ravine when Tommy comes crashing down the staircase from the tiny dirt room above.

“Hey, Wil- holy shit.”

“Don’t fall,” Wilbur calls. He starts packing cobblestone into the cracks in the walls and floor.

Tommy comes running down the rest of the staircase, although he does at least manage to not fall.

“This is great,” he laughs. “Although, it’s a bit of a downgrade, isn’t it.” He runs his hand along the rough cobble that covers the scars ingrained in the natural stone. “Going from L’Manburg to… this.”

“...Yeah,” Wilbur says after a moment of silence. He doesn’t have any other words.

They fall back into a quiet that’s only broken by the sound of Wilbur’s flint and steel as he tries to strike a fire.

A couple hours pass and Tommy’s fallen asleep, snoring softly on the other side of the ravine. Wilbur, on the other hand, won’t be able to sleep for another few days. Instead, he sits by their campfire, the crackling of the flames fading into the buzz of a microphone fading into the hissing of a TNT fuse.

He’s still sitting there when Tommy wakes up again.

The one stroke of hope that Wilbur and Tommy have, holed up in the thin, tall ravine, is Technoblade, who comes to them out of the blue like a godsend. At least, that’s what Tommy thinks; Wilbur has never been so quick to trust. Techno may be his brother, but he hasn’t exactly been present for the last couple years.

“What’s the plan?” Techno asks once he’s gotten a good look at the ravine they now live in, and Wilbur can’t blame him. He has been rather unfairly thrust into this mess that Wilbur and Tommy have made for themselves.

“Well, we take back L’Manburg, of course,” Tommy says, all his courage and bluster back full force. “I’m sure Tubbo’s on our side, and with him and the Blade, we’re unstoppable!”

“...Yes,” Wilbur says, and then clears his throat of any hesitation. “Of course.”

Tommy beams. “We need a new name! New revolution, new brand, and all that. How about… Pogtopia?”

Techno, on the other side of the ravine, shrugs. “Sounds good to me.”

And so, Pogtopia comes to be, built on the back of food and family and revolution - just like L’Manburg once was.

Wilbur pretends that the thought of that doesn’t fill him with unease.

Tommy comes bouncing back into the ravine the very next day with Tubbo in tow. They explain, in something that’s closer to rambling than any coherent speech, that Tubbo’s the Secretary of State, that Schlatt wants him to be his right hand man, that Tubbo isn’t sure about Schlatt’s cause.

And, well, Wilbur may have his suspicions. A spy who’s the Secretary of State is just a bit too good to believe. But, he may as well keep his enemies close, he supposes, and so he resigns himself to keeping an eye on Tubbo. I

t’s not even a week before something happens and Tubbo has the chance to help.

Wilbur’s at the bottom of Pogtopia, frying potatoes on the campfire, when he hears the sound of dirt breaking from above. He and Techno look at each other before they ascend the winding staircase that leads them up into the tiny dirt room where their bed rests, Tommy right behind them.

“Schlatt’s having a speech,” Tubbo says from where he’s leaning on the dirt wall to catch his breath. “Come quickly.”

Wilbur’s already brushing past him before he’s even finished speaking.

The way back to L’Manburg is much easier to traverse in the daylight. As it turns out, Eret’s tower serves as a wonderful reference point for Wilbur - and isn’t that ironic, that the traitor’s intimidation tower is now useful?

It’s easy to slip inside the abandoned, broken down tower, and soon, Wilbur is scaling the ladder to the second level, Tommy and Techno right behind him. He’s the first to reach the top, and he’s the first to see what’s happened to his nation.

Tommy makes a noise of disbelief behind him, but Wilbur can’t quite process it.

Instead, all he can comprehend are the remains of L’Manburg.

The wooden podium is no more, replaced with cold, sharp stone. The walls, also, are no more - their once proud height is nothing but flat grass, now. The only sign that there was ever anything there at all is a few scattered bits of dark blackstone across the earth. The Camarvan is the only recognizable thing left, and it sharply contrasts the rest of the neat office buildings that now surround it. It’s comforting to see the slapdash, patchwork way it’s constructed; deep, deep down, though, Wilbur knows that this may be the last time he ever lays his eyes on it.

Above it all, above the carnage, the flag stands, dark and rigid and cold. No longer is it made of soft wool dyed in bright colors; instead, its rough black edges look sharp enough to cut, and its details glow a bright, unearthly orange.

Wilbur doesn’t realize he’s crying until Techno places a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“The speech is starting,” Techno says, and his voice has a slight, uncharacteristic soft quality to it.

Wilbur brushes away his tears with a shaky hand and forces himself to listen in as Schlatt taps the microphone once, twice, three times. He holds his back straight and his shoulders tight, and he pushes down the rage that bubbles up as he hears Schlatt’s slander against him.

But, all it takes is one sentence to end the world a second time over, and Wilbur is not prepared for the sudden devastation.

“From now on,” Schlatt says, a smirk creeping into his voice as he drags out every word. “From now on, this young, brave nation will be called Manburg.”

Wilbur can feel Tommy and Techno’s eyes on him, but his gaze is fixed on the stone podium. Schlatt is as small as an ant, from where Wilbur stands. All the people down there are nothing more than identical tiny specks, from George and Quackity to Fundy and Tubbo.

Schlatt continues talking, more platitudes and self praise, but Wilbur hears none of it over the static pulsing behind his ears.

“Let’s go,” he forces out, his fists white-knuckled at his side.

He lets himself look over L’Manburg - no, Manburg - no, L’Manburg - one last time, lets himself take in the Camarvan and the drug park and the dark, dark flag, and then he turns away.

The three of them sneak back to Pogtopia as quickly and as quietly as possible, all of them silent in shock. It’s only once they’re safely inside, the dirt wall patched up behind them, that anyone dares to speak.

“I can’t believe this.” Tommy’s face is drawn and tired and distraught.

Wilbur laughs a low, dark, tired chuckle. “Well, it’s the truth.”

“You’re just going to accept it? Just like that?” Tommy asks, incredulous, shock and raw grief clear on his face.

“What can we do? We held an election, we lost, Schlatt’s in office, and the people support him! We have no power!”

“Wait, you mean you decided to hold an election?” Techno butts in, incredulous. “Your people were perfectly happy and you just decided that an election was a good idea?”

And, well, Wilbur doesn’t know what to say to that. Why did he hold the election? What did he need to prove?

“Shut up,” is all he really can say, and he leaves before either Techno or Tommy have a chance to say anything.

The next week is quiet in the aftershocks of everything that’s happened. A small reprieve comes in the fact that Schlatt’s not doing much, according to the reports Tubbo gives. Pogtopia’s constantly quiet; Tommy and Techno are both outside more often than not, conspicuously absent from Pogtopia’s land, and so Wilbur has the base to himself.

It’s almost too quiet. Every sound Wilbur makes, every spare cough or scuff of his shoe, it all echoes throughout the ravine tenfold. It’s just Wilbur and his thoughts and the echoes and the crushing despair of the situation he’s found himself in.

So, the next time Tubbo sneaks back to Pogtopia to give them his report, Wilbur’s awaiting him anxiously at the door, desperate for any sign of action.

“Where’s Tommy?” is the first thing out of Tubbo’s mouth, as if there’s nothing more important going on than friendships right now.

Wilbur shrugs. He doesn’t want to admit that he has no idea, doesn’t want to admit that he’s scared of that uncertainty.

“Report first, Tommy later,” is what he says instead.

“Oh!” Tubbo says, “not much has been going on. Schlatt’s having a festival though.”

And Wilbur imagines it - a festival in Manburg’s name, a dozen people praising Schlatt’s name under the light of a black-and-orange flag. He imagines it and he feels like he might explode.

Tubbo keeps talking, nonchalant, as if it’s not a big deal, as if Schlatt’s not dancing on L’Manburg’s grave. “He’s asked me to write a speech.”

This? This changes things.

Even in retrospect, it’s hard to pinpoint the moment that Wilbur started to see the truth.

Maybe he realized when Tubbo hesitated to hand over the book with Schlatt’s plans in it. Maybe he realized when he decided to hold an election and lost. Maybe he realized when he found himself in an underground brick room, Eret’s hand poised over a button.

When he hears of the festival, though, that’s the last thing that pushes him to open his eyes. All at once, he knows that he is alone and always has been alone, that everyone’s been stringing him along from the start. And, once his eyes are opened, it’s impossible to close them.

Suddenly, Wilbur is aware of the way that Tubbo smiles when he talks about the changes Schlatt’s made to Wilbur’s country. Suddenly, he’s aware of the frown in Techno’s voice when Wilbur asks him how the farm’s going. Suddenly, he’s aware of the way Tommy spends far too much time in what-was-once-L’Manburg.

Suddenly, Wilbur can see of all his supposed friends’ subtle rebellions.

It hurts to realize. Of course it does. But, somewhere deep down, Wilbur knows that it’s been this way all along.

His people, L’Manburg’s people, don’t know what’s best for themselves, and they never did. And so, like a father to a rebellious teenager, Wilbur has to teach them a lesson.

Maybe that makes him the villain. But, just maybe, the villain isn’t that bad of a thing to be.

There’s a festival in a week, and what better of a statement is there than to destroy the last remnants of L’Manburg right under Schlatt’s nose?

It’s far too easy to convince Dream to help him. Really, that confirms everything he now knows is true, but he can’t bring himself to care anymore. He has bigger things to deal with, and he now has the TNT to do it.

“I think we’re the bad guys,” he says to Tommy, that night, after Tubbo’s long gone back to Manburg, back to Schlatt. It’s the first time he’s said his thoughts out loud, but he can only feel his conviction growing stronger with every word out of his mouth.

“...What?”

Wilbur turns to look at Tommy as he repeats himself. “I think we’re the bad guys.”

“What does that mean, Wilbur,” Tommy asks, a bewildered half-grin on his face, like he’s not sure if Wilbur’s joking or not.

“We’re trying to overthrow a democratically elected government, Tommy.” The half grin falters on Tommy’s face. Good. He needs to realize how serious Wilbur is.

“Schlatt followed the rules of our election fair and square, and he won. We were never in the right.”

“I don’t know about that-” Tommy tries to speak, but Wilbur cuts him off.

“You were never going to be president,” he says, and he can see the exact moment that Tommy’s face falls. He doesn’t stop talking. “Here’s the thing - we were fucked from the beginning! None of us know what we’re doing. We’ve lost no matter what. L’Manburg is no more. Schlatt is against us, the people are against us, and even the land is against us.”

Tommy is silent, is staring at Wilbur with wide, watery eyes. Wilbur cocks his head to the side as his lips twist into a grin that shows far, far too many teeth.

“I can see it in your eyes. You’re scared, Tommy. But, listen,” and here, he waves his hands frantically as he talks, “we can still fix this. If we can’t have L’Manburg, _no one can_.”

His words are punctuated with the sound of his heart thundering in his chest. He is fierce, can feel the fire and anger running through his veins, can feel the twisted joy of finally being able to _change something_. His flag and his walls and his _everything_ has been torn away from him by people he once considered family. Now, it’s time for him to return the favor.

“Let’s burn it to the _ground_.”

He extends his hand to Tommy as a final invitation, as one last chance at redemption.

Tommy… he turns away.

He says something, something about talking to Tubbo, but all Wilbur can see is the way the walls fall and all he can hear is a much deeper voice saying “it was never meant to be.”

The sound of Tommy’s footsteps echo down the winding staircase that leads back to the outside, and Wilbur is finally, truly left alone.

He doesn’t explode like he did before. No, quite the opposite, in fact. Now, his anger is so cold that it burns, just underneath the surface of his skin. It shakes his teeth and it freezes through every inch of his body.

Now, he knows that he has to do this on his own.

That’s okay, though, he thinks, as he plans his carefully hidden route to Dream’s drop point. He’s always done it alone. The only difference is that this time, he knows everyone’s true colors, even his brother’s, his right hand man’s.

All he’s ever wanted was the best for his people, and they have responded by throwing him out, again and again and again. Maybe they never deserved his kindness.

Maybe the best thing all along was no L’Manburg at all.

So, Wilbur hides away for the next week. He tells Tubbo, and Techno, and even Tommy that he’s busy when they try to speak to him. He stops replying to Niki’s letters. His supposed friends were never going to help him; they’re just like Eret, extending a fake hand in his time of need; they’re just like Dream, all too willing to turn on his heel and supply Wilbur with TNT.

 _They aren’t trustworthy_ , he has to remind himself, sometimes, when he catches the sad and betrayed look on Tommy’s face, when he hears Techno quietly asking Tubbo if he’s okay. _They’re just out to get you. You’re right, you’re right, you’re right._

He counts the sticks of TNT he has hidden away in a secret room in Pogtopia, and when he’s done counting them, he does it again. He drafts a map of L’Manburg - no, Manburg - from memory, before adding on all of Schlatt’s additions that Tubbo has let slip in casual conversation. With every day, his convictions grow stronger.

And, when he’s finally ready, he sneaks into Manburg in the dead of night, and he slips his way into the old scars that lie just underneath the ground, into an old blackstone brick room whose exact location is still ingrained into his head.

L’Manburg started its slow decay at the exact same moment that it took its first tottering steps towards creation. It didn’t end with a name change, or with an election, or with a war. No, the reality is that it has been ill from the moment it was born, that it has been doomed from the start.

And Wilbur? Wilbur is going to put it out of its misery.


	2. all my troubles on a burning pile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honks my clown nose sadly.
> 
> the stream from earlier today gave me so many ideas. and now, we have this!
> 
> title from burning pile by mother mother.
> 
> once again, thanks to my friends for betareading.

It takes him hours to set up the bombs. It’s so long that the sun has started to rise by the time he finally returns to the little underground control room he’s reclaimed as his own. 

He brushes his way past the faded, chipped sign and tosses his pickaxe off to one side of the room. Sitting down in the makeshift chair he’s cobbled together for himself, he waits, keeping an eye on the clock hung on the wall.

All it’ll take now is one perfectly-timed press of a button.

It’s uncomfortable and exciting all at once, to think about that. It has been such a long time since Wilbur stood atop the Camarvan, his closest friends, his  _ family _ , at his side, rallying them for one last battle. He’s an entirely different person, now. He has been hardened by months of fighting tooth and nail, and now all that he could have ever wanted is just within his grasp.

All he has to do is wait.

Time ticks by. Wilbur, if he listens close enough, thinks he can hear the sound of music and cheering crowds above him and footsteps growing ever closer behind him.

Actually, he can definitely hear that last one.

“Wilbur!” Tommy calls, his voice echoing down the stone passageway. The footsteps stop, and Wilbur knows that Tommy must see the spare dynamite and the wooden button surrounding him, because Tommy says, “holy shit, Wil.”

“Hello, Tommy,” he hums. “Come to enjoy the show?”

“Wilbur, you have to stop this.”

From where he’s sitting, Wilbur tilts his head so that he’s staring Tommy directly in the eyes. “And why is that?”

“This isn’t going to help anything. All you’re going to do is destroy your whole life’s work and kill so many people.” Tommy stands firm in the entrance to the bunker.

“And why should I care?” Wilbur asks, standing to face his brother. “I lost Manburg weeks ago.”

“There’s still hope for L’Manburg.”

Wilbur scoffs. “ _ Manburg _ died the second they threw me out, Tommy.”

“There’s still hope! We can get rid of Schlatt, we can take it back-”

“They threw you out, too! Or did you forget,” Wilbur cuts in, his voice sharp and venomous. “They only follow the people with the most power. They don’t care about us, the men who gave them everything they have.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then where’s Techno?” Wilbur asks, gesturing broadly with his arms. “Was he too busy to help you?”

“Shut up.”

“Or does he not care? Has he fallen to Schlatt’s words, just like the rest of them?”

“ _ Shut up. _ ”

“You know I’m right.”

Tommy’s fists are clenched at his side, his shoulders shaking, his voice hushed. “You’re not. He’s helping us.”

“Sure,” Wilbur says, but it’s bitter and sarcastic.

Tommy takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it though? I just want what’s best for this country. I always have.” Wilbur’s voice crescendoes until he’s shouting in Tommy’s face.

“All Manburg needs is a cleansing flame!” he yells, and he reaches for the button.

Tommy shoves himself in front of Wilbur’s outstretched hand.

“I can’t let you do this,” he says, so, so quietly.

“Why not?” Wilbur is frantic, his eyes wide, his hands and arms and everything shaking. 

“Wilbur,  _ please _ .” Tommy’s voice is ragged and desperate. “You’re not just hurting Schlatt with this. You’re hurting yourself. You’re hurting Tubbo and Techno. You’re hurting  _ me _ .”

Wilbur sighs. He tilts his head up to look at the ceiling. And he thinks.

“Step aside, Tommy,” he says after a moment. 

Tommy doesn’t move. “No.”

“If you trust me, you’ll  _ step aside. _ ”

Tommy is quiet and still.

Wilbur feels a chuckle bubble up out of his chest as he holds his face in his hands.

“I’m not going to press it,” he finally says, weakly, after his choked laughs have all run out.

Through the cracks between his fingers, he can see Tommy relax ever so slightly. 

“Really?”

“Really.”

Their words hang in the silence between them for a moment. Then, Tommy finally,  _ finally _ moves out of Wilbur’s way. Wilbur immediately steps forward to tear the button off the wall, and he can hear Tommy’s sigh of relief behind him.

“I’ve tried my plans for long enough,” he says. “I’m willing to try yours, now.” He doesn’t look at Tommy.

“I’m… I’m so glad to hear that, Wil.”

Wilbur’s fist clenches tighter around the button.

“Can you… can you give me a moment?” he asks, and he finally looks back. His brother’s arms hang at his sides, the beginning of a hopeful smile starting to show on his face, the shine back in his eyes.

“Of course,” Tommy tells him. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be right outside.”

He makes an aborted movement, like he’s going to step forward and clap Wilbur on the shoulder, but he seems to think better of it at the last minute. Instead, he inches towards the exit. There’s a split second in which Tommy and Wilbur look each other in the eyes before Tommy’s gone, out of sight up the sloping passageway.

Wilbur turns his back to the tunnel behind him and he takes a deep, deep breath.

Tommy always did trust so easily.

And yet, he couldn’t trust Wilbur when it came to this.

Wilbur thinks that there was a second where he truly did doubt himself, where he thought that maybe there could be a better way. He was so close to abandoning this whole project, just for a moment. But, that moment died when Tommy refused to move. It died and it burned when Tommy implicitly admitted that Wilbur was right, that all he wanted was for Wilbur to bow to his side.

Wilbur sings. The noise starts low and deep in his throat, like it’s crawling its way up and out of his heart, and Wilbur doesn’t even need to think for a second to remember the lyrics.

“I heard there was a special place...” he starts, and he’s thrown back to one sweltering summer afternoon, ink stains on his fingers, a signed book in his hands, his people before him. It feels like a hundred years ago, now.

“...Where men could go and emancipate from the tyranny and bloodlust of their rulers…”

A past version of Wilbur hummed this familiar tune quietly and desperately, trying to cling to the last bits of power he had left. This song was meant to comfort him, after all. It was meant to tell him that he still had people who believe in him, who would stand and sing along. Miles away, though, the walls were falling.

“...This place is real, you needn’t fret, with Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, fuck Eret…”

The Wilbur of the present stands a dozen blocks underground, spare sticks of dynamite scattered across the floor, bruises and gunpowder dusting his fingers. This room was once used to betray L’Manburg, was once used by someone who Wilbur thought he could trust, back when he was still naive and kind. He spent a long time hating Eret. Now, though, he thinks he forgives them.

“...A very big and not blown-up L’Manburg…”

Not so far away, Niki stands at the counter in her bakery, furiously kneading bread dough and trying to ignore the distant music and microphone feedback she can hear even from here. She looks out her front window, sees the long, stretching docks, sees the point where the sun begins to rise over the horizon, and she wonders when she’ll be safe from Schlatt’s rule.

“...My L’Manburg…”

Tubbo stands on stage, Schlatt and Quackity on his either side. He speaks into the microphone, tells the nation, tells the  _ world _ about the kindness and benevolence of Manburg’s president. He sees a flash of blonde hair over the last remnants of the blackstone walls, and he smiles as he talks.

“...My L’Manburg…”

Fundy sits in the audience, surrounded by the festival grounds that he helped build and by people who he holds no allegiance to. Technoblade is right in front of him, and Fundy stares at the back of his head, wondering what Pogtopia could be up to.

“...My L’Manburg…”

Tommy leans against the short dirt cliff outside, carefully staying out of sight from the festival. He turns to look back at the path leading deep down into the ground for just a second, wondering why his brother’s taking so long inside.

“...My L’Manburg.”

Wilbur presses the button.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a couple notes to avoid confusion: this is not canon compliant. dialogue is not gonna be the same. this chapter takes place immediately after the last one, so the festival is concurrent with what's goin on in the bunker. speaking of the bunker, this isn't in wilbur's actual button bunker, this is in the final control room which wilbur has repurposed to be his button bunker. poetic and shit, yea?
> 
> i know this work is listed as finished, but i'll hopefully be writing more both in this work and in the series this work is in!! idk how many chapters it'll be bc i am entirely winging it. this is my first ever multichap, so can i get a woo poggers for that?
> 
> pls leave a kudos/comment if you enjoyed!! they bring me life in these trying times.
> 
> if you're reading this, i love you and i hope you have a wonderful day. <3

**Author's Note:**

> hey!! thank you so much for reading this all the way through. i hope you enjoyed.
> 
> as you may notice, this is part 1 of a series which i'll hopefully write more of!! i have dreamsmp brainrot... the storyline is just so good for something that's totally improvised and it gives me many thoughts and feelings. so, please, Hit That Kudos Button to let me know if you liked it, according to ao3 statistics, wap, wap, all that.
> 
> if you're reading this, i hope you have a lovely day.


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